


The Abigail Kamara Approach to Policework & Magic

by moriann



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Brutalist Architecture, Future Fic, Gen, Towards the Industrial Use of Magic, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 19:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriann/pseuds/moriann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Real magic is not cool; it’s a pain in the arse. Not to mention bloody hard to learn. And you’ll be stuck learning it from guys who’d pretend they’re walking encyclopedias of magic when the truth is they’ve been mostly bumbling along, because they’re unaware of the many, many ways they are wrong. Seriously, I’m talking from experience here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Abigail Kamara Approach to Policework & Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nope/gifts).



Most people, if asked whether they would want to have magical powers, would answer with a resounding _Yes!_ After all, they were raised on fairy tales, the Disney films, and Harry Potter, not to mention a crapload of misinformation on the internet, and it all makes magic seem like something amazing. Sure, there might be an evil villainous sorcerer lurking in the shadows, but who cares when you could cast actual spells, right?

Yeah, well, those are people who have never seen magic in the real life. Real magic is not cool; it’s a pain in the arse. Not to mention bloody hard to learn. And you’ll be stuck learning it from guys who’d pretend they’re walking encyclopedias of magic when the truth is they’ve been mostly bumbling along, because they’re unaware of the many, many ways they are wrong. Seriously, I’m talking from experience here.

So kids, don’t do this at home. Like, trust me, I did when I was a kid, and look where it got me.

–––

Being the youngest copper on a team means that you get stuck with the jobs no one else wants to do. Case in point: this morning I was scheduled to meet with the Junior Cadet Branch. I’m sure they’re all lovely kids, but at eight in the morning the only company I like is coffee. Days like this, possibly in an IV drip.

To be honest, I only have myself to blame here, because I was the reason the Branch was created in a first place–I was a nosy kid who knew too much and had to be kept out of trouble with constant supervision. See? If magic could be used for anything useful, I should’ve been shown this particular glimpse of the future back then.

So, anyway. These kids do come in handy. After all, it’s a time-honoured tradition to use the Junior Apprentices to gather information about all sorts of uncanny happenings that can be observed around London–I mean, the ten years since Peter has started me on ghost-spotting makes it time-honoured, right?–and today they gave me the last piece of the puzzle that I can now use to make both Peter and Nightingale appreciate my genius. And also, you know, prove they’ve been wrong and blind for the last decade.

Only first, I have what looks like a ream of requisition forms and accident reports to fill in. My job would be so much easier if all incredible feats of magical prowess weren’t accompanied by destroyed electronics. By the way, can you believe that Peter said I can’t use ‘couldn’t withstand my awesomeness’ as an explanation for property destroyed in the course of duty? Killjoy.

–––

The paperwork took me two excruciating hours I will never get back, but afterwards I could finally go to the coach house to relax with Ancient Greek verbs and wait for Peter. Yes, I do conjugation in dead languages for fun–and also because I can use that knowledge later to make up formae other magic users won’t immediately recognise. In my book, anything that makes me harder to kill is a worthwhile pursuit, especially when the rest of the Folly seems to excel at making enemies. It’s also fun to surprise Peter with something when we spar; he makes the most hilariously wounded faces.

‘So, what’s so important we have to work on it on a Saturday?’ Peter’s words break my concentration, so I put down the book and jump off the couch.

‘We are gathered here today,’ I start and see him roll his eyes, ‘for you to accept this humble Constable as your superior in research skills.’

‘Is that so?’

I nodded and walked towards the staircase. ‘Obviously–and especially when it comes to this. Can we take the Jag, or are you banned again?’ He winces and that’s all the answer I need. ‘Tube it is, then!’ I call and run down the stairs, confident I dangled enough bait for him to follow without any more questions.

–––

My first brush with magic, in the form of Mickey the graffiti ghost, came not long before the Folly discovered _Wege der industriellen Nutzung von Magié_ and its revolutionary ideas about magic. Nightingale had his old-fashioned notions about magic and how to practice it properly, and Peter had his cheerfully irreverent and chaotic approach to it. Neither of them could really appreciate that magic could also come from engineering and architecture, the precision it took to balance the gravity-defying masterpieces rendered in _béton brut_ , and how finding that thin line was sometimes magic in itself.

Which brings us to here and now, leaving Canary Wharf station and walking towards Poplar. I stop at St. Leonidas Street and tell Peter to look around.

‘What am I looking for?’ he asks.

‘Magic!’

He frowns. ‘I don’t really feel any _vestigia_ here.’

I throw up my hands in frustration. ‘And?!’ At his blank look, I gesture sharply to his left. ‘Does that maybe remind you of something?’

For those unfamiliar with the place and as clueless: what Peter was overlooking was a huge tower of concrete, a twenty-seven-storey Brutalist gem, slightly damaged by time, but still as monumental as it was when it was new. And most importantly, it was a building housing over a hundred flats, surrounded by pavements, walkways and a constant stream of people and traffic, yet oddly devoid of any residual vestigia.

Peter looks between the tower and myself, and I can finally see him making the necessary mental connections. Well, at least some of them; it’s beginning to become quite obvious that this will have to be a very carefully guided tour if I want him to grok what’s going on before the next ice age approaches.

‘You do realise that one building from the sixties being a nexus of magical energies does not mean they all have mystical properties?’ he asks.

I huff with annoyance, because here I am, ten years of magical education and a degree in architecture later, and he still thinks he’s the smarter one. Time for a wake-up call.

‘This is the Balfron Tower, built by Ernö Goldfinger, part of a project that makes what your buddy Stromberg achieved look like the amateur hour.’ Peter looks alarmed at this. ‘Yup, you heard me. The lack of _vestigia_? It’s not because there aren’t any, it’s because this tower is sucking it all up. And before you question this, I had my Junior Minions watch the whole project for the last few months. It works.’

Peter scrunches his face and tells me to call them Apprentices, not Minions, but I steamroll right over his objections and continue. My Minions, my rules.

‘And the best part?’ I continue. ‘There’s another one, Trellick Tower, right across on the other side the City, and together they form a neat little axis through London, and right in the middle of that line? Barbican Estate and it’s three superhigh towers, conveniently located right in the spot where you could, say, focus all that magical energy and harvest it. It makes Stromberg’s idea of a single paltry _Stadtkrone_ downright obscure.’

‘You should’ve said something right away! If you’re right, do you know how dangerous this could be?’ he asks, looking .

‘I know!’ I beam at him and his face looks like it’s turning slightly green. ‘But with great power come great opportunities!’

‘It’s _responsibilities_ , Abigail. As in, it’s potentially dangerous, and we’re responsible for people’s safety.’

‘Nope, my dear Obi-Wan, _opportunity_. Now we could finally have an edge over the next power-hungry wizard who decides to set up camp in our city, instead of prevailing by the skin of our teeth. And Vader, when she once again pops up to wreak havoc,’ I add after a beat and he grimaces. ‘If we only had someone who could make this work, who’s spent years studying magic and reading architecture...’ I trail off.

Peter narrows his eyes.

‘You’re suggesting we put you in charge of something that could probably blow up half of London,’ he says, crossing his arms as if to ward himself against the idea. I think he’s trying to project something like stern disappointment at me. Good thing I'm immune.

‘Don’t be such a wet blanket, Detective Grant!’ I lower my voice and lean forward to whisper at him. ‘It could’ve been worse. Back in the fifties they’ve tried to push through a plan to turn the whole of Soho into a giant conservatory with five giant, three-winged towers sticking out of it.’

–––

So overall, things are looking up. I’ll get to play with industrial magic and impress everyone with my brilliance. And best of all, I get to avoid most of the paperwork on this one, because it was apparently deemed important enough to warrant direct supervision by people further up the police food chain. I’m an all-round bloody success.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to rsf for brainstorming and cheerleading, and kangeiko for the beta.


End file.
